Unintentional Deception
by Iditarod
Summary: DMC Spoilers. Takes place starting when they return to Tia Dalma. Written from Will's point of view. I just have a few of the chapters put in as teasers. Should I add the rest? I'll let you decide!
1. Disheveled

The orders issued, or at least the parts Will Turner had heard/understood, were quite simple; almost too simple at this stage in the game. The whole lot of them were to bunk in Tia Dalma's "palace" for the night, and get a good night's rest before they headed to the ends of the earth to recover what they could of Captain Jack Sparrow. As luck would have it, they weren't likely to have an opportunity to sleep again for quite some time. Supposedly, traveling to the ends of the Earth meant staying awake until the Earth ended too.

As each hazed moment tick-tocked away; and as each one of those singular minutes was slowly being devoured by the stale atmosphere laden upon the filth-trodden shelter, trust was becoming more and more difficult to muster. Waiting like this just felt pointless, despite the shared need for rest. However, despite the air of anxiety, Pintel and Regetti had no problem finding rest this night, they just didn't get restless as easy as the others. It was a wonder those two had made it this far alive.

With a furtive glance the blacksmith caught sight of the pair camped out on the joined wooden stools. For a brief moment a smile visited Will's pale features. Funny, those two had drifted off into dreamland well before Barbosa and Tia had finished their orders and house rules, they were just a pair of careless blokes, weren't they? Pintel and Regetti were leaning on each other, long gone in the passages of their dreams. Pintels's head rested on Regetti's lean shoulder, and in turn Regetti's head rested on the shorter man's head. Both parties snored, oblivious to their surroundings. The kracken itself could not wake them if it's life was on the line. Returning to the situation at hand Will's smile faded and he once again embraced reality. Those two were really something, but one can only live by the skin of his teeth for so long, it wouldn't make sense to be envious.

The remaining members of Jack's hardy crew, along with William Turner, and Elizabeth Swann, were bystanders in this critical juncture. Whether any other soul beside Mr. Turner had actually realized it, the title was now more fact than opinion at this point. As each precious moment was violently thrust into eternity, Jack was that one more minute's distance from his potential rescuers. With this knowledge thick upon each member's heart, all were expected to wait for signals from a witch with a crooked smile, and a technically "dead" Captain Barbosa, that didn't only hate Jack with a passion, but had betrayed them all once before. One time too many for the likes of Turner.

Hope, as well as their said "fearless" captain, were lost; just carelessly tossed into Davy Jones' Locker never to be recovered again. Or that's at least what Will had perceived. He didn't honestly trust Tia Dalma or Captain Barbosa near enough to believe their upcoming scheme would be a success. Then again, he didn't much care. No brighter circumstance could erupt from such a perilous plight, and well, how much grimmer could life really get after all that had occurred thus far?

It wasn't really the loss of Captain Jack Sparrow that bothered the young blacksmith, or even having to trust a pirate and witch nearly as deceptive as the mighty Sparrow himself. What really threw him into a chase after a man he didn't particularly care for, was in devotion to his betrothed, his one true love, Elizabeth. The consequences of such a venture were made crystal clear to Mr. Turner, yet nothing could deter the man from attempting to satisfy the woman he loved, even if it meant the satisfaction would not lie within himself. If Jack's well-being would liven her grief-stricken features, so be it, William would do everything within his power to make it so. His love was entitled to anything her heart desired, and Will was just determined to ensure such would occur.

Earlier, as Will Turner was fleeing the Pearl he caught a sight that both wretched the contents of his stomach and blistered his heart at the same time. Elizabeth was raptured in passion and ardor with his own betrayer. When Jack had returned to help, Will had thought he'd forgiven him. It felt as though the good outweighed the bad and the captain would see to his crew's survival. But, in that moment, every misdeed had resurfaced and put tremendous weight on his heart. At Mr. Gibbs's insistence, Turner tore his eyes away from the grotesque scene and sank into the small boat, stricken.

He no longer saw the mammoth wall of the Pearl, nor the anxious members of Captain Jack Sparrow's crew shifting nervously beside him. All William could see was that kiss swimming circles in his mind. Images of Elizabeth pressed willfully against Jack's rum-ridden form burned more than the blacksmith could stand. It felt as though he lay prostrate as an unmoving target and all the while Elizabeth and Jack gleefully thrust hot iron pokers at his body. The pain seared him from the inside out, and for the moment, all he could do was stare blankly at his calloused hands in disbelief.

Miss Swann descended into the tiny boat, placing herself opposite Will. He looked expectantly, waiting for the winsome captain to follow suit. Turner expected a smirk from the bloke, declaring a victory over the "said" eunuch, and a gloating wink. The blacksmith readied himself, determined not to punch the lights out of such filth, but when Jack had not appeared Will turned his hot gaze from the empty ladder to Elizabeth.

"Where's Jack?" Will inquired like a mere child. The blacksmith was one to wear his heart on his sleeve when around Elizabeth. As of now, his heart had been swollen to the brink with pure jealousy and hurt; it went without saying, Will's every gesture showed such feelings. It was a surprise Elizabeth had not picked up on the harsh tone, and in turn only replied as if she were a mile away from them all.

"He's elected to stay behind with the ship." She announced receiving piercing stares of disbelief, "Go!" Elizabeth looked out past Will towards the horizon. Elizabeth's words hung thick in the air, piercing all those with a loyalty to their doomed Captain. Tears welled in her delicate brown eyes and threatened to spill at the frailest of movements.

Mr. Gibbs quickly surveyed the situation and finally parted the silence, convincing the crew this was what Jack wanted. They removed their hats in a sign of humble respect and charged on. An uncanny silence resumed and settled over the band as they dove deeper into the forest. No one dared to break the silence, none were quite that strong. Instead, that thick silence descended heavier and heavier, daring to take the life right out of their bosoms, without the slightest permission.

Though young William was still willing to die for the life of Miss Swann after her actions, not near so much could be said towards the "self-less" captain who went down with his ship. True, the act appeared to be a very noteworthy and commendable deed to an outsider, or even one that didn't know Jack so well, but something just didn't sit well with the blacksmith. The act was seemingly unfinished and lacked a touch of character Will was certain Sparrow had yet to develop.

Barely a week had passed since the gold-toothed narcissist, tried to trick Will into a life of agonizing enslavement aboard the Flying Dutchman. Like the gullible being Jack had known him to be, he fell for it. Sparrow wasn't ready to give up his life then, why would he all of a sudden be ready to surrender his life to the Kracken? The ends were not matching up, something was out of place.

The blacksmith certainly couldn't tell anyone. Such a notion would only cause upset, and more than likely, an uproar as well. Will would be at the end of several well-poised blades in an instant. Sparrow was a god in their eyes, and not a one of them would allow thoughts otherwise. Jack Sparrow was a god in the eyes of many; cannibals claimed him a god, his crew worshiped the ground he walked on, and now it even seemed Elizabeth had fallen prey to the captain's winsome nature.

Will sat mum, his pummeled gaze focused on his hands. Every so often he would shift his vison to glance upon Miss Swann's grieved features. She still hadn't broken her blind gaze across the side of the boat; he doubted she would until they docked. Elizabeth looked right past him, as if he wasn't even present. A single tear ran down her cheek, and seared the blacksmith's very soul. Mr. Turner was oblivious to Elizabeth's real reasons for kissing him as passionately as she had; he took it for love, maybe even the beginning of an affair cut short.

Whatever the case, she was unhappy now and he couldn't stand for that. Swann's unhappiness disheveled him. The blacksmith could only be okay as long as she was content, and happy with her choices. He wasn't about to force or oblige his love to be with him if it didn't make her happy. His state of being was a minute factor and could afford to be lost. What did it matter anymore?


	2. Waiting Can be quite Trifling Indeed

**Disclaimer: **still on nothing :)

**A/N:** this is chapter 2...should I continue? (hehehe that rhymed lol)

Tia Dalma hobbled around her "palace" trying to make her captive guests as comfortable as they could possible be. She gave blankets and beds to as many that would accept them. In addition, food, drink, and concoctions of many sorts were offered; another ill attempt to comfort the hurting souls. After an hour's time had passed Tia returned to talk to Barbossa, leaving the crew members, Will, and Elizabeth to do as they pleased.

Some did actually find sleep amongst the wooden stools and rotting mattresses, and the others, did almost nothing. Will had not moved from his stool, nor had he stopped driving his knife into the table. With a quick flick of his wrist, the knife was embedded in the molded wood. With a firm tug on the butt of the knife, it was out. Again, and again, Will did this. The sound echoed through the house, driving a few crew members mad and comforting others. His pain produced a daze even he didn't think he was capable of.

Since arriving at Tia Dalma's humble "suite" the blacksmith hadn't even made eye contact with his betrothed, let alone say a single word to her. Continually, Will stared at the deepening hole he made in that ancient hunk of wood. Every now and then he would take a sip from his tankard filled with a mixture Tia had concocted specially for him. It contained chamomile, a hint of passion flower, and (surprise, surprise) a heaping of rum. The mixture was heated, and despite the strangeness, tasted rather wonderful. The liquid was spicy, and sweet, yet somehow soothing, he never thanked Tia, but he guessed she had already known his reaction long before he had it. It was a little unnerving, but much didn't get to him anymore.

The blacksmith broke his stare for split second, and glanced at Elizabeth, quickly returning his hot gaze to it's previous resting place. She was curled up in a musty corner, fully awake. A moth-eaten blanket was drawn around her shoulders and draped over her slender legs. Ms. Swann's head hung between her knees, and her overall look was pitiful. Puffy eyes stared at the tankard at her feet. She'd downed the contents long ago, but didn't feel it necessary or proper to request a refill.

Unknown to Will, that constant table-stabbing was driving her madly insane. He didn't look at Elizabeth long enough to see her grinding her teeth, or digging her nails into the palm of her hand. The young blacksmith had only glanced long enough to know she was still there, still mourning over Jack, and still distanced from himself. A few more stabs, and Elizabeth broke. She stood up suddenly, casting the blanket to the floor.

"I cant take it anymore!" She yelled with tiny fists clenched.

All those awake, including Will, stared at her in disbelief, almost as if she'd broken an unwritten rule of silence. The governor's daughter approached Turner and jerked the knife right out of his hand. With a smirk she marched out of the house and onto the front porch. Leaning over the railing she threw the knife down as hard as she could. The gal hadn't realized how much anger she had pent up inside of her as the dagger fell fast to the ground. Anger at God, anger at Jack, anger at the world, anger at William, anger at Norington, anger at Beckett, and anger at herself.

At that she began sobbing, not because of the knife she threw to the ground, but because of everything that had happened within the last day or so. The full reality of things hit her, and it was almost too much to bear. Pent up anger and sadness flowed from her being, slowly tearing her heart to pieces.

Back in Tia's house, the stares that had followed Elizabeth out the door turned to Will, whose eyes shifted to glance at each pair fixated on himself. He gave each pair of eyes a few seconds and turned his stare to the floor. Mr. Gibbs sat up and began another little speech/saying to Will.

"It's bad luck to-" Gibbs began, soon cut off by the very one he was speaking to.

"Oh, shut-up, Gibbs! I don't need this right now." The blacksmith retorted, hastily rising to his feet. Turner made his way to the front porch, his boots sounding heavily on the rotting wood. Will clutched the tankard close to his chest and slammed the door as he exited the stuffy little place. As the door echoed Will's back was facing Elizabeth. He sighed heavily and took a breath so he could unleash a few nasty words to Elizabeth as well.

Turning, his shoulders sagged and breath expelled. The sight which beheld him was almost too much to bear. He couldn't take his anger out on her while she was so miserable herself. Will considered going back into the house, but with the big scene he'd just made, he quickly decided against it. The blacksmith took a few steps towards the form huddled against the banister. He tenderly placed his hand on her shoulder and stroked her with his thumb. He attempted a weak smile and moved closer to the banister.

Still, no words were spoken from Will. He couldn't bring himself to it just yet. A few minutes, give or take, and he'd be a chatterbox, but, as of now, he was still fuming. He wouldn't want to explode at Elizabeth and shred his heart even more.

His right arm hung loosely around Ms. Swann's shoulders, the other held his tankard firmly on the banister. Elizabeth's racked form turned to face Will. She smiled warmly as she caught contact with those deep brown eyes for the first time in many hours. The smile quickly faded as more gentle tears streamed forth. Breaking eye contact she grasped Will's dark green jacket and buried her head into his chest. Will slowly ran his fingers across her back, comforting her the best he could without words. Oh, bother, this wait was a rather trifling one indeed.


End file.
